Mollie Ziegler Hemingway, a senior editor at The Federalist and a Protestant Christian offers a reflection on what Blessed Mary means to us as Mother of Christians in her book: The Christmas Virtues: A Treasury of Conservative Tales for the Holidays.
In this excerpt she takes on the glib dismissal of Christian faith by N.Y. Times ‘progressive’ bigots and answers some of the feminist critique of the role of Mary in the “beloved community” - - the Church.
But even then, the kids insist they love us both the same.
It’s touching. And also infuriating.
Even worse is what they say when I sometimes fight for a
World’s Greatest Mom trophy. (Don’t judge; we all do it.) I thought there was
only one answer to the question “Who’s the best mother in the world?” And that
the answer would always be “You, Mom!” Oh, no. When I ask my kids, “Who’s the
best momma in the whole world?” they always reply, “Mary, mother of God!”
They’re careful to insist that I’m absolutely, positively, a
solid second. Which isn’t bad, I guess. After all, Mary is—literally—the most
blessed woman in the history of the world. We Christians know this because God
chose her as the one woman throughout all space and time to deliver humanity
its Saviour. And if you needed even more proof, when God chose her—which was
probably the biggest surprise any human being has ever experienced—she
responded with a brief moment of confusion followed by serene, lifelong
acceptance. Most of us struggle to achieve serene acceptance at the checkout
line at the grocery store. So, yes, she’s the best mother.
And her unique role in the history of humanity is never more
apparent than at Christmas.
We moderns have a variety of beliefs about Jesus’s birth.
Some of us confidently accept every last miracle richly detailed in the
Gospels. Others pick and choose—they’ll accept that God became flesh and dwelt
among us for our salvation, but the star guiding the Wise Men is a bridge too
far. Others reject the story in toto.
In 2003, the New York Times’s Nicholas Kristof mocked the
Virgin Birth in a column published on the Roman Catholic feast of Mary’s
assumption into heaven (just to ensure the maximum amount of implied insult).
Kristof was worried because 83 percent of Americans say they believe in the
Virgin Birth of Jesus. He said this belief separates us from the rest of the
industrialized world—and he didn’t mean it in a good way.
“The faith in the Virgin Birth reflects the way American
Christianity is becoming less intellectual and more mystical over time,”
Kristof wrote, remarking with horror that the percentage of Americans who
believe in the Virgin Birth had actually risen five points since the question
was last polled. “I’m troubled by the way the great intellectual traditions of
Catholic and Protestant churches alike are withering,” he tsked. Though he
didn’t specify when, exactly, Christians had not believed in the Virgin Birth.
Which was first mentioned, you know, in the Bible.
Kristof wondered why more Christians couldn’t be like his
Presbyterian grandfather, who rejected the notion of the Virgin Birth. Which is
an odd stance, since you can’t really be a Christian without believing in
Christianity. But not as odd as Kristof’s follow-up claim: that the “evidence
for the Virgin Birth” was “shaky.” If you’re looking for forensic proof of the
deepest mysteries of God’s love, then you’re in the wrong business.
It’s easy to understand why our modern cultural elites
struggle with the science of the Virgin Birth, the heavens filling with angels,
and the star of the Magi. Yet if you think about it, these miracles aren’t even
close to being the most difficult things to believe about the Nativity story.
The deepest mystery of Christmas isn’t how Jesus was
conceived and born—it’s why. Why would almighty God care so much about losers
like us that he would humble himself to take on human flesh and enter humanity
at such a low station?
As intellectually and technologically advanced as we’ve
become, this incarnation of God in the person of Christ Jesus is just as
unfathomable to us as it was to Mary, Joseph, the shepherds, and the Wise Men
two thousand years ago.
St. Bernard of Clairvaux, a doctor of the Church, held that
there were three miracles present in the Christmas story. The first was that
God would be joined with human flesh. The second was that He would be born of a
virgin. The third was that Mary would have such profound faith that she would
accept God’s word. Sure, she asked a few questions. But once those were
answered, she believed.
And that’s why, in the “who’s your favorite (non-Jesus)
person in the Bible or church history” parlor game, Mary is a fan favorite.
(She’s way ahead of every other figure, as evidenced by all the art and hymnody
surrounding her story—not to mention all the children named Mary, Miriam,
Marilyn, and—ahem—Mollie.) In the midst of a hectic life in a hectic world, her
incorruptible faith can make her seem nearly impossible to relate to. But she
was meant not just for Jesus—she was meant for all of us.
Jesus himself holds her up as a model for all Christians. At
one point in the Gospel of Luke, a woman listening to Jesus in a crowd cries
out to him, “Blessed is the womb that bore you, and the breasts which nursed
you!” He says, “More than that, blessed are those who hear the word of God and
keep it!”
On first reading, this might sound like a slight. But it’s
not. Jesus isn’t saying, “Sure, but . . .” He’s saying “Yes, and . . .” That
the Virgin Mary bore Jesus and nursed him and raised him is beautiful and holy.
And yet it pales in comparison to Mary’s joyful confession that she is the
Lord’s handmaiden and that she will follow his Word wherever it leads.
She is blessed simply because she was chosen to be the
mother of God—but she is a blessing because of the way she made that choice.
She said yes, not just to Gabriel’s unprecedented invitation, but to
everything God asked of her. She assented completely, giving over not just her
body—which, let’s face it, is asking a lot—but also her heart.
Somehow, it’s not hard to imagine a New York Times columnist
echoing the complaint that Christianity—and especially Catholic Christianity—is
inherently sexist, what with having little, if any, place for women. As in her
day, Mary’s story is met with suspicion, even scorn. Yet it was a lowly woman
whom God entrusted with the most important role of all—carrying himself for
forty long weeks and pushing him into the world. “For unto us a child is born”
would not have been possible without Mary’s womanhood.
Many of my fellow Protestants are a bit weirded out by
Marian devotion among Roman Catholics—the May crowning, the statues, the
rosary. And certainly some traditions have made Mary into an object of worship,
a co-redeemer, and one to whom prayers are offered. But just because some go
too far doesn’t mean any of us should ignore Mary. We remember and honor her so
that we may remember how God chose to be with us; we remember and honor her by
seeking to make her words our own: “I am the Lord’s servant/maidservant! I have
heard Your Word, O Lord, and can only say, Amen!”
Through Mary, God gave Jesus to all mankind. And Jesus gave
her back to all mankind as he hung on the cross, telling John—and all of
us—“Behold your mother!” Mary isn’t God. She’s not above God, she’s not equal
to God. But given her starring role in the Nativity story, we can all agree
that she is even more than just the mother of God. She is the model for, and
mother of, all Christians.
Martin Luther, the reformer and pastor of St. Mary’s Church
in Wittenberg, gave a Christmas sermon in 1529 saying of Mary that she “is the
mother of Jesus and the mother of all of us even though it was Christ alone who
reposed on her knees. . . . If he is ours, we ought to be in his situation;
there where he is, we ought also to be and all that he has ought to be ours,
and his mother is also our mother.”
My children agree. And they’re right. Mary is mother to us
all—and she’s the best mother in the whole world.
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